The Paris Affair Read Online Free PDF Page B

hurt anyone.”
    She met Helmut’s gaze in the dimly lit hallway. In his darkened eyes, she recognized the same burning attraction she’d been flirting with all evening, but he held something back.
    Claire’s fingers closed on her keys, and she tried to pull them out of the bag, but they snagged on the strap and tumbled from her grasp.
    Almost before they hit the concrete floor, Helmut was on his knees at Claire’s feet, retrieving them. He stood slowly, his body a mere breath from hers. Though he didn’t so much as brush her clothing, her breasts tingled at the heat radiating from his chest. If her heart beat any harder, it would have smacked him in the face.
    This close, Claire could see a faint touch of stubble darkening his squared jaw, her eyes level with his Adam’s apple, above the finely tailored dress shirt that fit closely to firmly muscled shoulders. He wore no tie, and the top button was undone, showing a small hint of tanned, supple skin. Claire’s knees went weak at the thought of unbuttoning that shirt and running her fingers across his chest.
    She watched, dazed, as he reached his left arm around her, his sleeve brushing her waist, and fit her door key into the lock. He leaned his head down as he reached around her, until they stood almost cheek to cheek. Claire closed her eyes as she felt his warm breath tickling her neck, her ear.
    It had been a long time since any man had seduced her so subtly. It had been a long time since any man had seduced her at all. After Frank, she had promised herself to avoid work-related relationships, and she had no time to meet men anywhere else. But from what she knew of Helmut, he didn’t do relationships. Heartbreaker. Cold-hearted snake. Hot-blooded man. One who might leave her bed and not dog her steps for years. That didn’t sound bad.
    With a click, he turned the knob and pushed the massive wood door open.
    “I will see you tomorrow,” he whispered, the baritone of his voice sending shivers down her spine.
    Claire’s eyes flew open as he stepped away and cool air replaced the radiating heat of his body. She slumped against her open doorway and watched dumbly as he retreated back down the stairs.
     
    Helmut slid into the hard plastic seat of the mostly empty red-line train. With a squeal, the subway car pulled out of the station, beginning the twenty-some minute trip to his condo. A cab would go faster, but he was in no rush.
    He had needed the brisk walk from Claire’s apartment to cool his heated blood. In the harsh light of the train, he had to stop dwelling on the night’s events or he would embarrass himself.
    She had wanted him to kiss her. He didn’t miss the turned up lips or her expectant intake of breath. He could be there now, inside that artist’s loft of an apartment, her long legs wrapped around him. Maybe she would ride him, long blond hair brushing his face, surrounding him with the scent of sweet coconut and tropical orchids.
    Helmut eased off his sports jacket and draped it casually across his lap, disguising a rock hard erection.
    He could turn around and head back now, maybe pick up a bottle of champagne at the corner liquor store. His bet would be won. Tomorrow at the office could be awkward, but most of the executive team would be leaving next Tuesday for the Paris Air Show. By the time Claire returned from France, there would be nothing but frosty politeness between them. That’s how these things usually went.
    Claire wasn’t one of his usual flings. She had twice the intelligence and three times the wit of any of the women he’d dated over the past decade. She kept him on his toes with her sharp questions about his department, about their competitors, the marketplace.
    She had held her own this morning in a short interview with Aviation Weekly . He and two of the VP’s had been in the room, ready to jump to her aid if the interviewer had asked a question over her head. He should have known James’ daughter wouldn’t need